


Not Many Words Rhyme with Pirate

by idareu2bme



Category: Princess Bride (1987)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Feelings Realization, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Loyalty, M/M, Rhyming, Sickfic, soft romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27905323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idareu2bme/pseuds/idareu2bme
Summary: Picks up right after the end of the movie. Inigo becomes ill from his wounds. Fezzik takes care of him. FEELINGS.
Relationships: Fezzik/Inigo Montoya
Comments: 18
Kudos: 45
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Not Many Words Rhyme with Pirate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redgear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redgear/gifts).



> Redgear, I hope you enjoy this little fic. I figured we've all had a rough year and what we really need is some soft, wholesome fic for the soul. I wish you a wonderful Yuletide and a brighter New Year.

Inigo blearily opened his eyes.

Despite the throbbing in his head and his growing awareness of the pulsating pain in his abdomen, he couldn't help but smile as he immediately recognized the profile of Fezzik's slightly blurry face before him. He hummed, wishing to say something, but not feeling cognizant enough to think in words just yet. The pain in his guts continued to grow as he came more awake and, with it, came a terrible nausea that seemed to twist his stomach.

"Fe..." was all he managed to whisper. But it was enough to have Fezzik immediately turning to him.

"Shh," Fezzik soothed, setting a wooden bowl in Inigo's lap. Inigo blinked down at it for a moment before realizing he was lying against something that had him propped in a mostly sitting position. "Try not to be sick,” continued Fezzik. “The alchemist gave you a potion not long ago and it needs to stay down. Can you drink this?"

Inigo blinked a few times at the cup Fezzik was holding out to him. Why was the room shaking? He took a few calming breaths to fight past his gag reflex. When he finally felt a bit more settled, he reached for the cup and took a careful sip. The water was cold as ice and he jolted at the unexpected sensation. Was it winter already?

"You have a bad fever," said Fezzik when Inigo managed to pass the cup back. Ah, so maybe the water wasn't so cold, maybe he was just _that_ warm. Concerning. "I was afraid you’d never wake up. But you have and your eyes are clearer than before. Do you know me, Inigo?"

"Of course I know you," croaked Inigo. "How could I ever forget you? My truest friend."

"That is good," said Fezzik, a smile taking over his face. Inigo smiled right back despite the continuing pain in his head and his gut. Fezzik’s smile was one that always inspired mirroring, afterall. "You were so ill before that you didn’t know any of us."

Inigo frowned at that. He frowned even further when it caused a thought to strike him.

"Weren't we riding horses just a moment ago?” he asked. The room began to shake a bit more. He grabbed at his head, his sudden anxiety making it hurt worse. “Where are we? Where's Westley and Buttercup?"

“Shh,” came Fezzik’s answer. Were he anyone else, such a reply in that moment would have irritated Inigo, but Fezzik was different.

“Fezzik,” grumbled Inigo all the same.

He closed his eyes when he saw Fezzik lean closer to reach for him. An impossibly large hand touched soft and cool on his bare shoulder, another gently pressed against his brow.

“We are in a cottage owned by the Dread Pirate Roberts. It’s in a forest just a day’s walk from the village Albury,” explained Fezzik. “We came here when you got sick from your stab wound. The Man in Black must be friends with him.”

“Westley _is_ the Dread Pirate Roberts,” huffed Inigo, leaning into Fezzik’s hand when he began to retreat it. The move made Fezzik smile. Inigo didn’t see it as his eyes were still shut, but he knew simply by the familiar sound of Fezzik’s amused exhale.

Fezzik began carding his fingers through Inigo’s hair. It was heavenly --even if they caught in tangles more often than not. Inigo imagined he looked and smelled terrible. He was overwarm and his skin felt clammy with sweat. Fezzik’s ministrations were his only relief.

“But his name is Westley,” said Fezzik a few moments later, sounding confused. 

Inigo felt his mouth twist in another smile at the delay in Fezzik’s response and the fact that he had been unaware of Westley’s _profession_. 

“Roberts is just the title,” murmured Inigo. 

His eyelids felt so heavy. It seemed he wouldn’t be able to open them even if he had a mind to. He heard Fezzik cluck his tongue as though he were disappointed by his new knowledge of the infamous pirate.

“That is why he could best us both,” murmured Fezzik in quiet realization.

Inigo hummed. Fezzik continued to stroke his hair. It was comforting. Inigo felt sleep pressing on the edges of his awareness. He would like to stay awake to continue talking with Fezzik and to continue enjoying his gentled hands, but to sleep also meant to escape the pain ever growing, ever pulsating in his abdomen.

“They continued on,” spoke Fezzik and Inigo struggled to pay attention. “He and Princess Buttercup. We are all wanted criminals now. They said we should split up until you get better so we don't raise suspicion.”

“You and I are not strangers to this way of life,” mumbled Inigo. 

Somnolent, he could feel himself falling back toward the dark nothing of unconsciousness. Fezzik’s touch made it a peaceful fall. 

“Neither is Westley if he’s who you say,” said Fezzik, though he suddenly sounded far away. 

Inigo simply hummed in reply and then he was swallowed completely.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Inigo was floating on an unpleasantly warm sea. 

Floating should have been relaxing, but this was not. Sure, the waves didn’t crash against one another, but they rose and fell in an unending, sickening pattern that made him dizzy. He felt green in the face and let out a low moan trying to clutch for his stomach. Someone grabbed his hand. Their hand was very large, or Inigo had somehow shrunk. It caused panic to rise in his chest, but at least their grip was gentle.

“Be still, Inigo,” a familiar voice commanded in a soothing tone.

And then he was no longer lying on the sea, but instead he was on the seashore. Had the swelling, roiling waves washed him there? The sand was lumpy under his back and his skin itched from the drying saltwater. Inigo tried to speak, but all that came out was nonsensical words. His mouth, it seemed, was filled with that same sand. 

“It’s okay,” said the voice and Inigo tried to believe it. 

A cloth, cool with freshwater, pressed to his face and a hand pushed through his tangled, seaweed hair. Inigo began to relax as the cloth washed the sand and salt water from his body. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt glued shut. Still, the cloth brushed over his skin. Starting at his face, then down his neck and across his chest, it washed him over him and took his anxiety away as it went. 

“It’s okay,” said the voice once more. “Just rest so you can get better.”

Inigo fell back to sleep.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Pain assaulted him before he could even open his eyes. Inigo groaned as his consciousness came back to him, flooding through his body bringing agony with it. Most of the pain could be pinpointed to his lower abdomen, but every joint also ached with disuse. He shivered and pulled the blanket lying across his bare chest further up his shoulders. The movement caused a sharp pain in his shoulder and that was when he remembered.

He had done it. He had killed the six-fingered man. He’d avenged his father. 

He smiled terribly. A load had fallen from his chest the moment the task had been completed. He had trained so long, had searched so long, and, finally, the moment had come. Even though the man had turned out to be a _pathetic_ coward not fit to be called a man, thanks to Inigo, he had met his long-destined demise by Inigo’s father’s own blade. 

It was frustrating to know that the man who had taken his dear father’s life had been such a useless creature. Alas, but who else but a disgraceful coward would kill a man over the price of a commissioned sword? He should not have been so surprised that the six-fingered man was the sort to tuck tail and run rather than accept Inigo’s challenge. 

Still, cowardly as Count Rugen had shown himself to be, killing him had not proven easy. The man possessed no honour. He fought dirty. And, ugly as they were, his tactics had proven effective -- as the throbbing dagger wound in Inigo’s gut could attest. 

Inigo groaned again before finally pushing himself to turn his attention outward and take interest in his surroundings. He squinted in the low light and tried to look around the room as best as he could from his lying position. 

It was a simple hut, though the stonework around the base of the walls showed it to be nicer than the average peasant home. It was one-room with a firepit in the centre. Smoke was rising from the declining fire. The pot hanging over it was likely the source of the delicious smell hanging in the air. Yet, there was no one else in the hut. 

Inigo could see all four walls from his bed. It gave him a moment of confusion where he wondered if it were he, alone, who had tended to himself and who had built the fire. No, he could not have. Plus, he had been with Fezzik and the other two last he could remember, and Fezzik would never have left him alone in his state… 

_Fezzik_.

The man came into the hut just then, his mighty arms full of wood, a bucket hanging from one elbow. Inigo let out a soft breath in relief. He was not alone. 

“Inigo,” spoke Fezzik, his face visibly lightening when his eyes met Inigo’s. 

Inigo smiled, though it likely better resembled a grimace. He watched the large man hurriedly set the load of wood down beside the fire and the bucket down on the table, before moving to his side.

“You’re awake,” said Fezzik, kneeling down at his bedside.

“I am,” said Inigo after clearing his throat a few times. 

Fezzik left him a moment and returned with a cup of water which he held out to Inigo to take. Inigo took a small sip. 

“Thank you, my friend,” he said, stuttering as Fezzik gently guided him into a sitting position. Having his hands on his body while he was feeling so weak had something twisting in his breast that was very different than pain and sickness.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment when Fezzik pressed a gentle hand to his forehead.

“Your fever has not returned,” said Fezzik.

“Was it bad?” managed Inigo. 

Fezzik offered him the cup again. Inigo took another sip.

“You lost yourself for a while,” said Fezzik. “I… was worried.”

“I’m sorry to worry you,” said Inigo. 

“The Man in Black-- _Westley_ ,” started Fezzik as he took the cup back from Inigo. “He paid for a surgeon and alchemist. He left a lot of money should we need anything. I think he’s rich.”

He sounded scandalized at the fact. Inigo wanted to smile, but he felt too awful.

“He and Buttercup left,” he surmised.

Fezzik nodded.

“I told you this twice already, but you didn’t remember anything each time that you woke from your fever sleep. When you are better, he said to meet them at Balena Bay,” explained Fezzik. “He’s got a job for you.”

“Yes,” said Inigo with a frown. “Yes, the _job_. We had discussed it… briefly.” 

Fezzik frowned. 

“Do you not want the job?” he asked. “I think he will be a better boss than Vizzini. He doesn’t yell as much.”

“It is not that kind of job,” sighed Inigo. 

He wondered, not for the first time since Westley had suggested it, if Fezzik would want to be part of a pirate crew or if taking him up on the offer would mean losing Fezzik’s company. His entire life up until then had been spent working toward a single goal. Now that the six-fingered man was dead, he had no purpose. Westley’s suggestion that he become the next Dread Pirate Roberts was an attractive option and, if he were honest, his only one currently. However, if it meant moving on without Fezzik, he didn’t think he could do it. He had not known Fezzik long and yet he did not want to imagine being without him, now.

“Inigo.”

Inigo blinked a few times, shaking his head and immediately regretting it. His head felt very fragile just then.

“Are you going to fall back asleep?” asked Fezzik.

“No, I... “ Inigo started, but paused to give it some actual thought. 

“I was making you soup,” explained Fezzik. “Will you stay awake long enough to eat some? The surgeon said it would be… unpleasant for you at first, but you still must eat to get your strength back. Hmm, maybe just some broth.”

“Yes,” said Inigo, softly. He marveled at Fezzik’s attentiveness. Was there a friend in all the land as devoted as he? Truly, Inigo was blessed to have him. “I will try your soup, Fezzik. Thank you.”

Fezzik beamed at him before getting to his feet to go fetch Inigo some soup.

  
  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


The next time Inigo awoke, he remembered immediately where he was and why he was there. His head was much clearer, but his body ached with disuse and his abdomen still bore all sorts of pain. He barely managed to hold back the whiny moan that tempted to escape his lips, but held it back he did. He could not whine. He must be better than that. 

He glanced around the cottage, as Fezzik had called it, looking for said giant. He guessed it was early morning as the room was still quite dim, but the morning birds were singing just outside the window across the room. Inigo spotted Fezzik laying sprawled on a pile of hay in the far corner, a blanket much too short for him pulled over his torso. A stab of guilt, dulled by a soft fondness, hit him in the chest. Fezzik’s selfless loyalty and care were unparalleled. Inigo would make it up to him once he was healed.

Bored and sore, but determined not to wake Fezzik, he dropped his head back to the linen covered sack of chaff that was his pillow. His stomach gurgled with hunger, but his lower abdomen throbbed and he felt sick with it. No, eating didn’t seem appealing in the least. The soup broth he had attempted to eat the night before had only managed to stay down through great concentration. He stared up at the rafters for a few long moments simply listening to Fezzik’s soft snores, the light breeze in the trees outside, and the singing birds. He was unaccustomed to such idle mornings.

It worried him to think of how long it might take to heal. He was not one to stay still. He was bored much too easily. And when he got bored, he usually fell into self-destructive habits. Dedicating your life to revenge wasn’t the greatest route for good mental health, afterall. Being laid up in bed for days, perhaps weeks, might have been the death of him before. Now, though, he realized he didn’t have that incessant urging to move forward in the back of his mind out of the necessity to complete his task, but simply out of habit. Perhaps it was a habit that he would break.

Inigo took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

“May your soul finally rest in peace, Father,” he murmured quietly under his breath. 

But what of his own soul? Could it also feel peace as a result? 

And what would he do with his life, now?

Inigo’s thoughts turned back to Westley’s suggestion that he become the next Dread Pirate Roberts. Could he do it? Could he live his life as a pirate, pillaging and plundering? Would Fezzik come with him? Could he take on the persona of a brutal murderer who took no prisoners? Fezzik would not stand for killing innocent people. 

Inigo furrowed his brow. Had Westley killed many people as the Dread Pirate? He had the skills required to do so, yes. But after becoming more familiar with him and seeing the love reflected in his eyes when he looked at Buttercup, Inigo had a hard time imagining him killing in cold-blood. Perhaps there were loopholes that someone like him could employ. 

Rustling across the room caught his attention. Inigo turned his head. Fezzik had sat up and was quietly blinking tired eyes. The sight had a small smile curling Inigo’s lips without him asking it to. He waited for Fezzik to stretch and stand before saying anything.

“Good morning, my friend,” he spoke, his voice more gravelly than he would have liked. He cleared his throat. “Did you sleep well on _the floor_?” he teased in an attempt to assuage his own guilt over it.

Fezzik turned his way and smiled.

“Inigo,” he croaked before pausing to clear the sleep from his own throat. “How do you feel this morning?”

Inigo made a face. He pushed down the desire to complain. Fezzik would feel bad if Inigo told him how much pain he felt. And Inigo would sound ungrateful if he admitted he was uncomfortable and sore from lying so long on the lumpy straw mattress, especially when Fezzik was sleeping on the floor. And, finally, it would only spur Fezzik to do more work if Inigo told him he felt disgusting and chilled lying under blankets that were slightly stiff from dried sweat --and possibly blood and vomit, Inigo was trying not to remember the days before. 

“I feel better than yesterday,” he lied, instead. 

Fezzik had crossed the room to his side in the short time it took him to deliberate an answer. Inigo’s eyes fluttered shut of their own accord when Fezzik gently touched his brow. Undoubtedly, he was checking for fever, but Inigo was unaccustomed, certainly just as any unwed man who lived by the sword, to a gentle touch. His heart rate sped up as Fezzik leaned in closer to him. He was simply checking him over, but Inigo swallowed heavily. What was this feeling that kept coming over him when Fezzik was close? Perhaps he still had a touch of fever.

“That’s good,” said Fezzik. “Maybe you can get up for a while today. Then I can clean your blankets.”

Inigo sighed in guilty relief. 

“Fezzik,” he said. “I do not deserve a friend like you.”

“Don’t be silly, Inigo,” said Fezzik, flashing him another of his sweet smiles. He patted him gently on his good shoulder, his hand large and heavy. “Rest for a bit longer, I’ll be back.”

With that, Fezzik straightened and left the cottage in a trudging manner that was unique to only him. Inigo watched him go like there was nowhere else to look. The familiarity of Fezzik was comforting in the way a child depended on a family member. Was that what all these sudden strange feelings were about? Was Fezzik taking the empty place meant for family in Inigo’s heart? So long had he felt alone in the world, driven only by a sense of obligation to his lost father. But here was Fezzik; good, kind, dependable Fezzik. Someone he could trust. A brother? No. He didn’t feel like a brother. 

Inigo would not be worried whether a brother would come with him should he take a new job. A brother would not fuss over him like Fezzik did. And he would not fear causing a brother to worry for him like he did Fezzik. The care he felt for him and the desire to keep him from worrying sounded more like what he would feel for a mother, not a brother. The desire to not have him far from his side, however...

Inigo rubbed a hand across his forehead. There was only one role he could think of that traditionally fit everything he was feeling. But could it really be that?

Fezzik returned while Inigo was still reeling over the realization. His arms were laden with a load of wood and a large cast iron pot. Inigo watched silently as Fezzik set them down by the fire pit in the centre of the room and immediately set to work building a new fire. Smoke quickly filled the room as the warm coals from the night before flared back to life and the kindling soon caught fire. Inigo’s eyes watered. But soon, the smoke got the idea to rise instead of billow out, and it cleared out of the room through the small opening in the roof directly above the fire pit.

Inigo watched him as Fezzik sat on his knees watching the fire steadily grow to a healthy blaze. Was his regard for Fezzik truly of a romantic nature, he wondered. Inigo’s mind reeled. Such a relationship was unconventional, but not completely unheard of. He would not disregard the possibility simply because it was strange and, if he were honest, a little frightening. Still, he could not be certain if that was truly what he felt or wanted. And, if it was, would it be something Fezzik would or even could return? Best not to say anything on the subject just yet. At least not until he better knew his own mind and heart.

“The sky’s clear and blue,” said Fezzik from where he was feeding steadily larger pieces of wood into the growing fire. Though his voice was low and soft, it was still startling in the quiet. Inigo blinked a few times coming out of his thoughts. 

“That is… good,” said Inigo, uncertain of Fezzik’s point.

“It’ll be a good day to hang laundry to dry,” continued Fezzik. “I’m heating water for your blankets. Are you hungry? The baker in the village is sending a boy to deliver bread today, but there’s still some soup from last night.”

Inigo closed his eyes for a moment and held in a groan. He did not want to eat, but, as Fezzik has wisely said the day before, he needed food in order to heal. 

“I would have more soup,” he said around a sigh.

Fezzik sent him another smile. So many smiles lately, but each belayed by the worry in his eyes. Inigo wondered how long it would be until Fezzik would stop fearing for him. Did he come so close to dying?

“That’s good,” said Fezzik. “I’ll warm it while the water heats.”

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had been more painful than Inigo had imagined simply to sit up on the bed. Fezzik warned him not to use the muscles of his abdomen or it could pull his stitches apart, so instead he had to let Fezzik slowly raise him upright with his arms under his back. Now, Inigo sat holding to Fezzik’s arm while trying to catch his breath. It was discouraging to have his limitations made so clear to himself. 

“You’re doing well, Inigo,” praised Fezzik, seeming to have caught on to Inigo’s souring mood and wanting to stop it in its tracks.

“It does not feel like it,” replied Inigo from between teeth clenched in pain. 

“Take a few deep breaths,” Fezzik suggested while rubbing his free hand over Inigo’s back. 

His hand could cover both his shoulder blades to down his lower back in barely a swipe leaving Inigo to, once again, marvel at the size disparity between them. He did as instructed and felt the muscles in his body begin to relax minutely with each deep breath. When he had his wits back about him, he took one last deep breath and swung his legs over to the edge of the low bed. Fezzik was doing his best to guide him, but it was awkward work. 

“Hold onto me,” said Fezzik. “We’ll stand up together.”

Inigo puffed a few quick breaths and grit his teeth before reaching for him. Fezzik put his hands under his arms like he was a small child. Together, they stood, just like Fezzik had instructed. It wasn’t as bad as sitting up had been, but it was still rough. Inigo felt like a new colt on wobbly legs --though he doubted any horse was born into the world in as much pain as he currently felt. He swallowed back the want to gag. The small amount of soup he had eaten just before was trying to rebel. 

Fezzik was hunched over to be at his level, his hands steadying and gentle against his ribcage. Inigo leaned his forehead into his wide chest and closed his eyes to wait out the headrush he was feeling. 

“You okay, Inigo?” asked Fezzik, quietly.

Inigo nodded against his chest.

“I could carry you,” Fezzik offered after a few moments of silence.

Inigo shook his head. 

“I can walk,” he said with more certainty than he felt. 

The only thing he was _actually_ certain of was that he did not want Fezzik to carry him. As strong as he was and as gentle as he could be, Fezzik was _not_ graceful. He didn’t want to be jostled about. Plus, Inigo, though he did not consider himself an obtusely proud man, still had _some_ pride. 

After another few moments, Inigo finally lifted his head from Fezzik’s chest and readied himself to walk. Fezzik stayed hunched over to his height and slid an arm below his shoulders to help support him. Inigo was thankful for it. He grabbed from Fezzik’s free arm and Fezzik obliged him, reaching across his own wide torso to allow Inigo to clutch his forearm. Inigo took a few wobbly steps at first, but soon he was walking mostly of his own accord, albeit slowly. 

“Where do you want to go?” asked Fezzik as they passed the fire in the centre of the room. Inigo glanced up to his face to see his eyes were trained on his bed of straw and too-small blanket on the floor. But Inigo had other plans.

“Outside,” said Inigo. “Perhaps I can sit under a tree. I would like the fresh air and change of scenery.”

Getting through the door together took some maneuvering as Fezzik’s shoulders were nearly the breath of the door all on their own, but then they were outside. Inigo paused to enjoy the warm sunlight on his face and take a deep breath of the fresh, morning air. He was unsure of how long he had been in bed delirious with fever; perhaps three days, perhaps four. 

They walked to a nearby stand of trees and Fezzik helped Inigo slowly lower himself to the ground. As he slid slowly to sit down against the smooth-trunked tree, the sensation of the calluses on Fezzik’s hands catching on the soft skin of his sides caused gooseflesh to bloom across his chest and arms. Inigo bit his lip and focused instead on finding a comfortable way to recline. 

“You’ll get cold in the shade without a shirt,” said Fezzik, straightening slowly with a hand at his own lower back. Inigo winced in sympathy, that had been a long time to spend stooped over for Inigo’s benefit. “And I will bring your pillow to lean on.”

“Thank you, Fezzik,” Inigo said softly, feeling particularly sentimental. 

Fezzik nodded and turned to go retrieve the things he’d promised. 

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The shadows cast by the trees changed as the sun moved across the sky. Inigo dozed leaned partially propped against the tree, the bag of chaff that served as a peasant’s pillow sitting between his back and the tree. Fezzik’s blanket covered him completely and he found he was as comfortable as he’d yet been since first waking up in the cottage. 

He slowly fell asleep while watching Fezzik hang the newly-washed blankets and his torn, stained tunic and vest on a line. Fezzik had strung the line from the cottage to a tall cypress tree just a few paces left of where Inigo lay. He must have found some clothes pegs when he had found the line. He held a few between his teeth as he clipped the items to the line. Traditionally women’s work, but one had to learn to be self-sufficient when one spent so long single and it seemed Fezzik was very adept.

Later, Inigo had been awakened by distant voices. He surmised it was the baker’s boy come to deliver the bread Fezzik has spoken of. He turned to his head to see Fezzik point his direction before handing the boy a few coins. Inigo distantly wondered what Fezzik was purchasing before he’d drifted back to sleep.

He woke again some time later to Fezzik sitting down next to him. He smiled groggily.

“You have finished your many tasks?”

“I brought you water,” said Fezzik, not really answering his question. “You must be thirsty. Your tunic and vest are practically rags. The boy is going to bring you new ones when he brings fresh bread tomorrow.”

“Ah, that is what you were saying to him,” said Inigo.

Fezzik didn’t reply, but reached to take hold of him under his shoulders. Inigo frowned, but allowed himself to be bodily moved into a more upright position. His shoulder and gut protested the movement. He wasn’t able to stop himself from letting out the groan.

“Drink this,” ordered Fezzik, holding out a cup.

Inigo took it and held it to his lips. He quickly realized he was parched and drank greedily. Fezzik’s hand went to his brown, again. 

“Your fever is returning.” 

“I don’t feel bad,” argued Inigo. 

“Let’s keep it that way,” said Fezzik, getting to his feet. “I have a little more medicine from the apothecarist. Just a moment.”

The look of disappointed dismay on his face made Inigo feel, once again, guilty. He must get better more quickly for Fezzik’s sake. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on healing while he waited for Fezzik’s return. Unfortunately, he was unsure exactly how to do that, but he tried his best.

“I hope it tastes better than it smells,” said Fezzik upon his return.

He sprinkled a wretched smelling powder into the water left in Inigo’s cup. Inigo wrinkled his nose, but drank it in one large gulp without complaint. He coughed and gagged a few times once he’d finished, but kept the awful concoction down.

“It does not,” he choked out between coughs.

Fezzik chuckled. 

“Do you want more water?” he offered. “Wash away the taste?”

“No,” said Inigo, leaning back and ignoring how the tree dug into his shoulders since his pillow only sat at his lower back. “I would much prefer you simply sit with me.”

Fezzik smiled. 

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll just... lean against this _tree_.”

A matching smile slowly spread across Inigo’s face.

“You sure have a lot of… charm,” he said. 

Fezzik thought for a moment, then grinned brightly. 

“I hope it’s enough to... _disarm_.”

Inigo chuckled.

“Yes, you could make friends out of foe.”

“Good,” said Fezzik. “Then I won’t have to start a _row._ ”

Inigo laughed in delight at how smug Fezzik looked over his latest rhyme. Fezzik’s eyes twinkled. Inigo leaned toward him even though he knew the movement would make his abdomen twinge. He looked down and cleared his throat.

“But what if you were a pirate?” he asked, suddenly nervous.

Fezzik frowned.

“It would depend on the _climate_ ,” he answered. “That wasn’t a very good rhyme,” he quickly added with a disappointed sigh. 

“Sorry,” said Inigo. “Not a good word to choose on my part.”

“Why’d you choose it?” asked Fezzik instead of looking for a rhyme for ‘part’.

Inigo tipped his head back against the tree and let out a sigh. He was worried to bring it up with Fezzik, but the days spent in recovery were long and it felt he’d been thinking on it for an eternity. 

“My lifelong purpose has been fulfilled,” he began. Fezzik hummed his understanding; not interrupting, but wordlessly reminding Inigo of the late night talks they’d had around the campfire when they’d first met under Vizzini’s employ. “And now I am at a crossroads as they say.”

“What will you do with your life now that your father’s murderer is dead,” said Fezzik.

“Yes,” said Inigo. “Exactly that. I do not have skills beyond the sword, Fezzik. It has been my life up until now. What is more, I am penniless, directionless, and wanted by the king of Florin. It may pose some limitations on which career I choose next.”

Fezzik nodded in comprehension. 

“Westley,” continued Inigo after a moment’s pause to decide on how to continue. “He is the Dread Pirate Roberts by title alone. He told me it is something of a ruse, the title. The original Dread Pirate retired some years ago and passed the title to one of his crewmates who then passed it to Westley.”

Inigo paused again to make sure Fezzik understood.

“He’s offered to pass it to you,” said Fezzik in that pause. 

“Yes,” said Inigo in surprise. “He told you this?”

“I figured it out on my own,” said Fezzik with a shrug and a shy smile. “Just now.”

Inigo grinned. 

“Fezzik,” he gasped. “How bright!”

“I’m getting quicker,” agreed Fezzik, his smile growing wider.

Unable to help himself, Inigo reached with his good arm to touch Fezzik’s shoulder. Fezzik shifted to sit closer to him. Inigo’s heart picked up speed, but he leaned into his side without a word. 

“So,” said Inigo after a few moments. “What do you think?”

“Of you being a pirate?” asked Fezzik.

“Of _you_ being a pirate,” countered Inigo.

He was looking out over the hills of forest beyond the cottage, avoiding looking over at Fezzik, worried about what his response would be. Fezzik didn’t respond at all. Finally, Inigo looked over at him.

“Fezzik?” he asked.

“You want me to come with you?” asked Fezzik, his voice sounding oddly shaky.

Inigo sat up best he could, bracing himself with a hand on Fezzik’s leg He turned to look Fezzik straight in the eye.

“My friend,” he said with a sudden intensity that made his chest feel tight. “I may not know what life has in store for me or what my new purpose should be, but I do know that it must involve you.”

Fezzik looked down and away, his expression showing him to be overwhelmed.

“Then,” he said after a moment. “I think... I would like to be a pirate.”

Inigo smiled in relief and joy.

“You will make a fantastic pirate, my friend,” he said. “No matter the _climate_.”

Fezzik chuckled. 

“Not many words rhyme with pirate,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe none do.”

“If there is one, you’ll find it,” said Inigo as he leaned back into Fezzik’s side.

Fezzik lifted his arm and pulled him gently closer. Inigo’s stomach did a strange flip-flop and he thought to himself how easy it would be to replace ‘my friend’ with ‘my love’ when he spoke. It was a giddy sort of realization.

They sat in silence as the breeze grew steadily cooler, Inigo feeling lighter now that he knew Fezzik wanted to stay with him perhaps just as much as he wanted him there. The sun was hanging low in the sky, now. Soon, Fezzik would want to move him back into the cottage for the night and take down the laundry from the line. Undoubtedly, the blankets and clothes were dry by now and, much as he was loath to admit it, Inigo was also beginning to miss the lumpy bed. 

Apparently, he still had a long way to go in his healing process. It was likely there were many long, quiet days ahead of them at the cottage. Perhaps that wasn’t such a terrible thing, though. Inigo would sit a bit longer and simply enjoy the feeling of being pressed into Fezzik’s side. 

“Fezzik, will you tell me again of the white bears you saw in Greenland?” he asked. 

“Aren’t you sick of that story?” murmured Fezzik softly. “I’ve told you it many times.”

“I’ll not tire of hearing it before you tire of telling it,” said Inigo with a shrug. 

Fezzik huffed a small laugh. 

“I was fishing from the icy rocks early one morning,” he began. “It was my turn to make breakfast, you see…”

Inigo smiled contentedly and closed his eyes.


End file.
